


Can We Get a Refill?

by pennysparrow



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Diners, Gen, M/M, Modern Era, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:54:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25289410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pennysparrow/pseuds/pennysparrow
Summary: Courf loves her friends but they have flaws. Like the fact that the only place that lets them meet is the local diner with terrible service and slightly less terrible food. Oh, and the fact that two of them hate each other and she wishes they'd just kiss already.
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables), Les Amis de l'ABC Friendship
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	Can We Get a Refill?

**Author's Note:**

> This whole fic was inspired by a tumblr post but the exact post is a bit of a spoiler so I'll link it at the very end.

Courfeyrac really loved her friends, which was obvious from the fact that she was still at this diner. This diner that was built during the Eisenhower administration with neon last updated under Kennedy. This diner with a drop ceiling and bathrooms that had been redone before Nixon quit. The cook had been here since Reagan and the last time the menus were printed Monica Lewinski wasn’t a household name and people still thought Bill Clinton was cool. Though the speakers and CD player were implemented under Bush the Younger. Even if currently it was playing classic rock songs that came out before Courf’s parents were even in high school.

Though the décor, or lack thereof, wasn’t exactly a reason not to enjoy sitting at the diner. It was more so the abysmal service and less than mediocre food.

The waitress had definitely been working there since the Adams administration. The first one. Even if that was physically impossible, Courf knew it to be true deep in her soul. It was the only explanation as to why someone who so clearly hated costumer service, service, people in general, and young people specifically had yet to retire from waiting tables at a diner a block from a university. She was another victim of the country’s abysmal social safety net and terrible minimum wage. She simply couldn’t get another job and so just never left. At least that’s what Courf’s soul said.

Despite her unending glares, the waitress pretty much ignored them which is how Courf and her friends inadvertently became regulars there. She didn’t interrupt them and unlike all the cafes and coffee shops in the area, had yet to kick them out when they got rowdy.

So, Courf really should first acknowledge that it was love of her friends that even brought her to this diner in the first place. And continued to week after week. Though this particular visit it was love of her friends that was keeping her here long after the sun had set.

Hours ago, Courfeyrac finished the pot roast that had come out too dry and the mashed potatoes that were too wet. The table had been cleared of dishes and taken over by papers. Courf had gotten up to convince the waitress into letting her order some onion rings. And then a milkshake. And then to just let the group of college students come behind the counter to fill their own coffee mugs, because they both knew she wasn’t going to.

She slid back into their booth next to Combeferre after her latest trip to the coffee pot, having started another to brew. Enjolras and Grantaire were still going at it.

“How long has it been?” she murmured to Ferre.

He tapped at his phone screen. “Almost midnight now, so about four hours.”

Courf groaned and let herself flop against Ferre’s side. He huffed but she knew it was to cover a laugh while across the table Bahorel and Jehan were failing at stifling giggles of their own. Enjolras and Grantaire didn’t notice since they were still arguing. And had been for the past four hours apparently.

“We could leave and they wouldn’t even notice,” Bahorel said. Though the way he lifted his eyebrow turned it into more of a proposal than anything.

“If we left then it would cause a bigger problem when they finally notice,” Combeferre said lowly.

Courf snorted and Jehan giggled. Bahorel just nodded in resignation which was coupled with him settling further into the vinyl backed bench meaning he wasn’t flying the coop just yet.

“What did this one start over? I honestly can’t remember anymore,” Courf said to her compatriots.

“Stationary,” Jehan supplied helpfully. They smirked at the overdramatic eyeroll Courf gave before continuing. “We were talking about getting posters printed to advertise actual ABC meetings in an attempt to drum up members. Enjolras thought basic printer paper would suffice. R vehemently disagreed.”

“And here we are,” Courf sighed.

~

Enjolras was infuriated. This was originally supposed to be a planning meeting.

Feuilly hadn’t been able to come due to covering for a coworker who called in sick at the last minute. God only knows where Marius was though the answer was most likely with Cosette. Eponine had said something cryptic this afternoon and then both she and Gavroche had taken to ducking his calls. And Bossuet had come down with a stomach bug so Joly was convinced it was only a matter of hours until he came down with it too and Musichetta had stayed to look after them. With half of the ABC missing it was almost absurd to keep the meeting, but they had things that needed to get done.

Though now that Grantaire had insisted on derailing the conversation there seemed to be no point.

“Now you’re just being purposefully obtuse,” Enjolras accused him.

Leaning against the window across the table from him, Grantaire smirked. “Maybe. But you know my original point stands.”

Enjolras loathed to admit that he could no longer remember his original point. To do so would be an automatic win for the other man. So, Enjolras did what he had to in a situation like this. Negate what Grantaire was saying.

“Your original point is irrelevant because it was designed purely to oppose my point and start this argument.” Enjolras narrowed his eyes, reaching for his coffee mug and hoping that would be the end of that.

He spluttered on the drink, not realizing that it had been refilled and was now piping hot and under sugared. Enjolras coughed and reached for a napkin as coffee started to dribble down his chin.

As he scrambled his hand was met by another. Grantaire was offering him a napkin. Enjolras grabbed it and began mopping up the coffee. Not to mention using it as an excuse to avoid the mirth that danced across Grantaire’s expression.

That was probably the thing that was the most annoying about Grantaire. Not his endless ability to point out Enjolras’s flaws or argue every little thing or his desire to do nothing but criticize everything the ABC stood for. No, it was definitely the fact that he seemed to be enjoying it. That he was having fun doing all of those things. He was mocking Enjolras **and** getting the _biggest_ kick out of it.

Though the other things on their own were annoying too.

“You didn’t notice that Courf wheedled the waitress into just letting her have access to the coffee pot?” Grantaire chuckled.

He was tempted to glare.

The raised eyebrows Grantaire was giving him said he expected Enjolras to glare.

It was only his desire to counter Grantaire’s expectations that prevented Enjolras from glaring. He didn’t care what Combeferre and Courfeyrac said, spite was an excellent motivator.

Instead, Enjolras sniffed and tried again to drink his coffee. Grabbing the sugar to stir in and blowing into the mug to cool the liquid down before taking a cautious sip.

Truthfully, he hadn’t noticed that Courf had talked the staff into letting her just get her own coffee. Enjolras was unsurprised as the waitress was notoriously terrible and the cook truly did not care, but he hadn’t actually seen it happen. Nor had he seen her take his mug or possibly even just bring back the pot when she’d gone. Courf was kind like that so again it wasn’t shocking in the least. He just hadn’t been paying attention.

Rather, he’d been caught up arguing with Grantaire who spun the topic with each of his counterarguments until Enjolras was dizzy, reeling, and unsure what he’d originally been talking about.

The smug expression Grantaire wore as easily as his denim jacket made Enjolras think that had been the whole point.

Still, it was Enjolras’s fault that Grantaire was purposefully monopolizing his attention. He was the one who so easily fell to the temptation of Grantaire’s goading. He had also allowed himself to be swept into the fight. He had focused on nothing but Grantaire. To the point where he had ignored his friends, even with Combeferre practically pressed against him.

So yes, Enjolras was infuriated but it was mainly at himself. Because yes, Grantaire was distracting but he’d allowed himself to get distracted.

Again.

~

It was stupid, Grantaire knew it was stupid. And endlessly immature. But like, not just middle school immature; rather full-on kindergarten pigtail pulling levels of immature.

Didn’t mean he was going to stop.

It was just so _easy_ to get Enjolras all hot and bothered.

Well.

Not in the way Grantaire secretly wanted.

Though he had to admit he was more than happy with this. Mostly because he got Enjolras’s undivided attention for the duration of the argument. Which – checking his phone now that Enjolras had shifted his focus to coffee – turned out to be hours. Huh. Well that was a new record.

Part of Grantaire felt bad for ignoring his friends, especially since he’d heard Bahorel mention ditching them and Courf had fought a battle on his behalf. Ok, all their behalf. Regardless, she was owed a thank you for the fresh coffee.

The problem was that Enjolras was just so intoxicating.

The hair. The eyes. The unrepentant idealism. The boundless optimism. The energy that just pulls you in and makes you want to be better. Because even when he was pissed and raging at you it was obvious that it was all because he wanted you to be more than what you thought you were. Because he saw something in you and believed you could be. Because while his anger was something to behold, it was his disappointment that cut deep.

Yeah, Grantaire had it bad for Enjolras.

Like, _bad_.

Bad enough that it _ached_. That he understood why Shakespeare had so much love in his tragedies. That he happily invited Enjolras’s scorn if it meant being his focus.

That he had left his friends to their own devices for much too long now. Especially since this diner was undeniably shit and he’d taken Enjolras’s attention instead letting him get on with assigning them all tasks. Or something like that. Honestly, Grantaire didn’t really know what was supposed to be happening. Besides riling Enjolras up, Grantaire was just sort of along for the ride.

Which likely explained why he hadn’t noticed when their friends ditched them.

Grantaire could’ve sworn Bahorel was slowly smushing him into the wall just a minute ago. Maybe he’d been serious about leaving and taking Jehan, Courf, and Combeferre with him.

Enjolras looked like he was having an internal crisis of some sort. Well, he’d been staring into that mug for a while now. So, Grantaire figured he hadn’t noticed that it was just the two of them in the booth.

Sitting up straight, Grantaire craned his neck to scan the diner. For a place that had last been renovated in the 1970s – or at least parts had been renovated – it was incredibly clean. Which realistically was the only thing it had going for it. It wasn’t big, like at all. So, it was fairly easy to find them studying the pies in the display case.

As Grantaire watched, Courf hopped up onto the counter. She kicked her feet and sent a winning smile towards the waitress where she was reading what Grantaire could tell was a steamy romance novel and sitting on the stool closest to the cash register. She slowly turned a page, pointedly ignoring Courf. Though Courfeyrac seemed undeterred. Grantaire knew Courf and he knew that meant she would be getting pie.

“You want pie?” Grantaire asked, turning back to Enjolras.

He had still been zoned out and startled at Grantaire’s voice. “Huh?”

Grantaire couldn’t cover his small smile as Enjolras blinked at him. “Do you,” he said slowly as his smile grew, “want pie?”

“Oh. Um.” It was obvious that Enjolras was still coming back from wherever his mind had taken him. He looked around as though just now realizing that he’d been left alone with Grantaire.

Fearing that Enjolras might bolt, Grantaire spoke quickly. “Courf seems to be charming the staff into letting us have some pie.”

“Apple?” Enjolras sounded uncertain. Hearing that made Grantaire feel as though the world had shifted three centimeters to the left. As though everything was just slightly off balance.

“Is that question mark there because you don’t really know if you want pie or you don’t really know if they have apple pie?” As he spoke, Grantaire felt everything go steady again because Enjolras was already rolling his eyes.

“The latter. Obviously.”

“Hey now,” Grantaire chuckled, “that was a valid question.”

Enjolras quirked an eyebrow coolly but there was something about his expression that made him look amused. It certainly wasn’t a look of disgust, disinterest, or displeasure. Grantaire knew exactly what those looked like.

Flinging his arm over the back of the booth, Grantaire spun around in his seat to yell across the small space. “Hey Courf!” She turned to look at him but before he could say anymore the door opened with a loud jangle of bells.

~

Courf flexed all her flirting skills on Bertha whose overwhelming air of… well to be frank, she reminded Courfeyrac of Roz from _Monsters Inc._ and that very much was not her type. But it was fine because, as she’d been told repeatedly, Courf was apparently not Bertha’s type either. Still, flattery never hurt and her mom always said you caught more flies with honey.

Besides, history had proven that Courf could wear her down. And this time she had backup.

She heard her name called from across the diner. Courf turned her head to see what R wanted, causing her shoulder length hair to flare out. She was still getting used to the chop but, the bi girl hair was undeniably a good look for her.

Grantaire was about to keep speaking when the door opened and the bells chimed loudly over the classic rock that had been covering the buzz of the fluorescent lights.

Courfeyrac blinked as a small group walked in. It was after midnight and while the place was open all night, she’d never seen anyone else come in after midnight. And thanks to her friends, Courf had spent _a lot_ of long nights in this diner.

While a part of her wanted to know what Grantaire was going to say before he was interrupted, she quickly decided that she was going to shift her focus to the diner’s new patrons.

There were four of them and they kind of looked like someone was cosplaying a _Lord of the Rings_ version of The Village People and then gone to a rave. Courfeyrac didn’t have anything against bold looks, she was known to rock them herself and she was friends Bahorel for crying out loud, but this was something else. Also, there was _a lot_ of glitter.

It was unusual to say the least.

Besides they seemed sort of, well, sort of fuzzy around the edges? Like if she squinted, they would come into focus rather than blurring.

They loitered near the door, looking between Courf sitting on the counter, the boys still in their booth, her friends studying the pies, and Bertha still reading her bodice-ripper.

Courfeyrac turned back to the older woman with a wide smile. “You have costumers,” she said sweetly.

“I heard,” Bertha grumbled.

Everyone seemed to look to her expectantly.

“Well go on,” she huffed. “Seat yourself.”

“If you want, we can help ourselves to some pie? Make your life a little easier,” Courf offered with a sugary smile.

Bertha rolled her eyes and Courfeyrac took it as tacet agreement. She slipped off the counter and headed behind the counter towards a stack of plates.

“Courf!” R yelled across the diner again.

She looked up to see what he wanted and discovered that the group had taken Bertha’s instruction and gone to settle at a booth far in the back corner by the bathrooms.

“Get us a slice of lemon merengue and another of apple,” R said.

Courfeyrac raised an eyebrow at the “us” but shot him a thumbs up and turned towards the pie case.

“Us?” Ferre asked with raised brows. Courf gave him her best “I know right?” look. He rolled his eyes in response but it was more at her slight dramatics than anything.

“I want shoo-fly,” Bahorel said. He pointed towards the sticky looking brown pie, his face longing. Also, just short of drooling. Courf made the executive decision that Rel was getting his slice first.

She cut him a slice and passed the plate before turning to Jehan. They looked thoughtful for a moment before finally settling on the lemon merengue that Grantaire asked for too. Courf cut two slices, passing them one and setting the other aside for R.

“We gonna talk about those guys’ outfits?” Bahorel asked with his mouth full as Courf cut a slice of apple she knew was for Enjolras.

“I’ll take some of the chocolate cake,” Ferre said and grabbed the plates to take for Enj and R.

Grabbing a piece of peanut butter for herself, Courf added the slices of pie to the notepad that was their running order and sat next to the cash register. Bertha didn’t even blink. Bahorel and Jehan were still muttering and eyeing the new costumers.

“I have to admit,” Courf hummed and popped a bite into her mouth, “the ivy crown? Weird but kinda a good look.”

Bahorel shot her an odd look while Jehan glanced back at the group. “With the white hair?” Jehan asked.

“Yeah.”

“Ivy crown?” Bahorel looked between them in confusion.

“Yeah the guy on the end? With the long white hair? And like overalls with a cape and like literally nothing else?” Courf tried to describe. And then promptly realized that none of the back-booth’s occupants were wearing shoes. And that they had caught Courf staring.

She grimaced and gave a little wave.

They kept staring.

“I, uh, don’t actually work here, so you’re just gonna have to wait for Bertha to finish reading about Scarlet being ravaged by Sir Reginald,” she told them.

They blinked and turned back to talking amongst themselves.

“Good talk,” she muttered, turning back to her friends with wide eyes.

Jehan bit their lip as Bahorel snorted. Ferre had yet to return and she figured it meant he was playing mediator.

“I don’t know how I missed it, but I totally didn’t see the ivy until you mentioned it,” Bahorel said lowly and started back towards the table on the other side of the diner.

“Did you notice the glitter?” Jehan asked dryly.

“That I did. And would welcome any and all ridicule had I missed it.”

Courf huffed a laugh, eating her peanut butter pie as she walked.

“I think we’re calling it for the night,” Enjolras sighed as they reached him, R, and Ferre.

“Food first,” she told him pointedly, sliding in next to Combeferre and making it so that Enjolras would have to climb over both of them to get out.

“We can try again tomorrow, maybe more people will be free?” Combeferre tried.

Jehan and Bahorel both winced.

“Let me guess,” Enjolras sighed, “you’re not?”

“Sorry,” Jehan said.

“It’s fine. We’ll find a time.” Enjolras went back to his pie and Courf exchanged looks with her friends. That was not like him, maybe they’d have to get Enjolras to eat pie more often?

They were cleaning up by the time Bertha came around with the check.

“I’m not splitting it,” she said before walking away. No one was surprised by this. They did the math and Courf put her money on the pile and left a tip much larger than deserved.


End file.
